


Is That Mine?

by awwcoffee



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, Multi, Other, Partying, Sloppy Makeouts, Your Ex is Dating My Ex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-03 22:54:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14006631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awwcoffee/pseuds/awwcoffee
Summary: From wlwprompts on tumblr: Person A and Person B have been broken up for awhile now, but when Person B finds out Person A still wears their old hoodie like a shield of amor, all the feelings come rushing back.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rated M for language, mentions of alcohol, and sexual themes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing like a wild college party to get over your ex.

Her eyes snap open when she hears the click of the front door. Calliope inhales sharply through her nose when she’s blinded by the late afternoon sun. She groans and buries her head further into her pillow. 

“Cal?” she hears Asra’s voice call out through their shared loft. She grunts out a response. Asra trudges up the steps, his bare feet whispering across the hardwood. She feels the bed dip when he sits. He’s silent but she feels his eyes bore into her shoulder. She knows he’s frowning. He gives her a friendly slap on her thigh. “Get dressed.”

She shakes her head, flinging the pillow at him. There is a short moment until she feels strong hands grip her bare ankles. Her eyes go wide, “Asra, don’t you d-ACK!” she yelps when she’s hauled off the mattress. She lands ass first onto the hardwood. “Asshole.”

The asshole above her chuckles. “That’s my name,” he smirks at her, his handsome face infuriating, “Now go take a shower and get dressed,” he tosses her an outfit and she holds the crop top up for inspection, “I’m taking your miserable ass out.”

 

 

“Portia, can I go home?” Mirasol groans. She stares into the contents of her red solo cup, but even the booze wasn’t making the party bearable. “I don’t want to have to hear another story about Lucio… being Lucio.”

She glares at the blonde man across the room. He preened under the crowd’s attention. Their host gesticulated wildly, no doubt embellishing another story of his… greatness. 

Beside her Portia winces. “He’s not that bad,” she says lamely, “y’know, once you get used to him.”

Mirasol quirks an eyebrow at her. Portia falters. 

“Okay he’s terrible,” Portia sighs, “but Nadia’s here and Nadia’s-” 

Mirasol interrupts her with a raise of her hand. “I know, I know. She’s amazing and she’s your girlfriend,” she nods to the statuesque woman. Nadia’s face was carefully composed into a picture of tolerant attention, but Mirasol knew the subtle upward curl of her upper lip. “Aaaand I think she needs you.”

Portia practically runs up to the woman in question. Nadia brightens when she sees her. 

“Ah, young love,” Julian sighs, plopping down on the couch by her side. He winds an arm across her shoulders, clinking his glass against hers. She snorts, leaning into him. She tucks her knees under her. Seeking comfort from the noise and the people, she sprawls across his chest, tilting her head onto his shoulder. He presses his cheek against her curly head. 

Mirasol’s eyes wander across the crowd absently. Noting nothing of interest, she decides to resume drinking. She frowns at her empty cup before wordlessly snatching Julian’s cup from his hands. Mirasol takes a sip and rears back, frowning. Julian laughs. She feels it rumble in his chest. “Why is this salty?” she smacks her lips, “And also… bitter?”

His long fingers tap the rim of the cup. “It’s called a ‘Salty Bitter’,” Julian smirks when she quirks her brows, skepticism painted across her face, “Don’t look at me. It’s Barth’s drink. He named it.” 

Julian raises his cup in a jaunty salute. Mirasol follows his line of sight until she sees Bartholomew, the bartender, raise a burly forearm in response. “Huh,” she hums. Mirasol takes another, longer sip. Julian watches her throat bob as she swallows the alcohol. She hums, frowning in thought. “I’m weirdly into it.”

Julian laughs out a sharp, pleased bark. 

“Hey, losers,” Portia calls out, before taking a seat on the arm of the couch. Julian presses a hand to his chest in mock offense, and Portia swats at her brother. After a moment of laughter, Portia leans in close. “Don’t look now but uh,” she whispers, a conspiratorial glean in her eye, “your ex just walked in.”

The pair’s eyes widen, and Portia huffs when they lean to look behind her at the door. “Oh shit,” they whisper in unison when  _both_  of their exes walk in, hand-in-hand no less. 

“Dumbasses,” Portia mutters with a smile, straightening and leaving the pair to their own devices. They stare at the new arrivals in a daze. Two sets of toned arms are on display. Julian stiffens when Asra’s sultry voice drifts across the room, his ears deaf to the throbbing music. Mirasol’s eyes trail down to peek at a toned midriff when Calliope raises a hand in greeting a nameless passerby. They both swallow audibly, but Mirasol snaps out of it first.

“Shit,” she mutters and then her hands fly to her middle, bunching the fabric of her hoodie, no,  _her_ hoodie, and she panics, “shit shit shit shit shit.”

“What’s wrong?” Julian tilts his head towards her but he’s still fixated on tawny fingers carding through white hair. He yelps when Mirasol yanks him down to her level, her brow pinched and eyes wide, “This is,” she pulls at the fabric of the hoodie, “this is  _her_ hoodie. Shit, I’m wearing  _her_ hoodie.”

“Oh,” Julian mutters lamely. Then his brain catches up to the rest of him. “Oh. Oh, fuck, em,” he stammers, but Mirasol’s mouth and brain are running a mile a minute.

“Christ, I can’t just leave,” Mirasol mutters, panicking, “She’s  _right there_  by the  _front door_ ,” Julian flinches when she rounds on him, “Julian, what do I do?”

Julian wracks his brain for a solution, “Maybe uh, take it off?”

Mirasol blushes, drawing her bottom lip into her teeth. She stutters. “Yu you uh remember what happened a few hours ago, right?” she says, her voice higher than usual, “Portia dragging you to my apartment, shoving clothes into my arms, and locking me in my own goddamn bathroom until I changed, saying ‘I’m taking you to a party tonight, you depressed fuck’, and barricading the door for good measure?”

Julian nods mutely.

“She uh,” Mirasol falters, fingers playing with her collar. Her blush deepens and she pulls at her collar. “She made me wear a bralette.”

Julian’s face flushes at the black lace. “It’s uh,” he stammers, blinking, “it’s lovely.”

She lets go of the collar, hugging herself across her middle. “Thank you,” she mutters, rubbing her upper arms. “But uh, it’s really cold,” she confesses.

“You’re always cold,” Julian murmurs and stutters when she levels a glare at him. “I em,” he looks around. He hadn’t brought a jacket, and Portia didn’t have one either. His brow knits, then Julian turns back, “Well uh, if I remember correctly, Asra never stays long at a party,” he turns back at her, “We could uh hide you in the bathroom?”

She nods, sneaking a glance at the glittering pair. “Good, good plan,” she mutters, getting up and taking Julian’s hand.

They weave through the crowd. Lucio’s campus house had five bathrooms. She frowns when she remembers him brag. Three were downstairs, which was the place she wanted to avoid, and two were upstairs. Of those two, one was in Lucio’s room, a place that was not in her Top Ten Places to See Before I Die. The pair make their way to the hall bathroom. Mirasol jangles the doorknob and curses when it’s locked.

“Please,” Julian says, presenting a key, “allow me. And before you ask, yes, I stole it off our generous host.” She smiles, impressed, and steps inside. “Mira,” Julian whispers, across the threshold, “I’ll uh keep watch downstairs. Just uh stay inside.”

“Okay,” she nods, pressing her lips together. Julian mimics her movements, lips pressed into a thin line. 

“Okay,” he whispers and shuts the door. She locks it behind him.

She exhales, hands laced over her head. “And now,” she huffs, “we wait.” 

Mirasol sets herself on the rim of the tub, notes idly how the tiles match her mauve skirt. She rocks her heels back and forth, scanning the bathroom. 

“Jesus Christ,” she hisses, rearing back. After a beat, she stands, drawn in by a mix of disgust and morbid curiosity. Staring back, wait no winking back at her, is Lucio, in a framed portrait hanging above the toilet. Cautiously, she extends her arms, lifting the frame. She tilts her head, as if a different angle would make this discovery less horrible. “Eugh,” she grunts, setting it down and stepping away, back across the room. 

After a beat, she returns to turn the portrait’s face to the wall. 

 

 

“See?” Asra beams. He’s dragged her to the dancefloor, among the warm, writhing bodies. He turns to her, places his hands on her hips, “Feeling better?”

“Feeling buzzed,” Calliope retorts, but the smile on her face is genuine. She feels the music thrum in her ribcage, and she closes her eyes. She rolls her hips to the beat. She wraps her arms around Asra’s neck, regarding him with lidded eyes. He grins before drawing his bottom lip into his teeth. He twirls her once and tugs her flush against his chest. Calliope laughs when he wraps his arms around her middle. Her grin falters when she feels him stiffen behind her. She peers over shoulder at him, sees the naked shock on his face. She follows his line of sight and her jaw drops. “Oh.”

It’s Julian. She peers back at Asra. He’s watching the redheaded med student like a hawk. She turns to face him, and he snaps out of his stupor. “Cal?” he asks, confused, like he wasn’t the one to drag her out of bed, like they hadn’t gone to this party together but instead ran into each other. 

“Asra,” she says, gently. Asra’s brow furrows, and she jerks her head to the man across the room. 

She sees Asra’s jaw clench, but he doesn’t say a word. He glares daggers at the redhead. Mirasol sees that the med student is speaking to his sister, bending at the waist to reach her ear. She nods and walks off, and Julian pulls out his phone, placing the red solo cup that was in his hands between his teeth. She sees his long fingers type out a quick message before scanning the room. Julian’s good eye widens and his jaw drops, along with the cup. He flinches when liquid splashes across his feet. Asra exhales through his nose, his jaw set and his muscles tense. Calliope nudges him with her shoulder and he startles. She raises her brows at him. Asra glances once in Julian’s direction and presses his lips together. “You’ll be okay?”

Calliope shrugs. “Probably,” she murmurs. She brightens when she sees a long mane of purple hair. “I’ll go talk to Nadi.”

Asra gives her a tight nod, before stalking off in the other direction. She makes her way past twisting warm bodies and towards the quieter parts of the house. She scans the crowd for any trace of Nadia’s russet skin or her purple hair. Instead, she finds Valerius. He was off in a corner, nursing what appeared to be wine. It looks like the graduate student was sulking, staring at their host with barely disguised resentment. 

“Heeeyy, Val,” she purrs, dropping down to the wall next to him. Valerius flinches, jostling his cup. 

“Oh,” Valerius mutters, lips curling in disdain, “it’s you.”

She grins up at him. “Yep, it’s me,” the grin on her face is smug and antagonistic. Her words are too and, after a few moments, she finds herself dowsed in expensive white wine. Still, the grin remains on her face and her tongue pokes out to lick her lips. 

“Valerius!” Valerius flinches at the sound of Nadia’s voice. Calliope turns casually and smiles when Nadia’s hands wind around her shoulders. She turns back to her assailant with a bigger grin. “ _What_  is  _wrong_  with you?”

“Nadia I uh,” Valerius stutters, fiddling with the cup, “She uh she started it and I-”

“Come, Calliope,” Nadia interrupts, leading her away, “Let’s get you cleaned up and find you some  _civilised_  company.”

When they leave, Valerius turns his gaze to the floor, his face flushing in shame. Shame quickly turns into anger when, with an arm winding behind Nadia, Calliope flips him off. 

Nadia leads her to a bathroom upstairs. Calliope picks at her crop top, regarding it idly. She wonders absently if it’ll stain. Beside her, Nadia’s phone dings. Calliope hears her scoff in displeasure. “Calliope, that was Portia,” she murmurs, “She says that Lucio has started… stripping and now we have to go stop him.”

Calliope’s eyebrows shoot up near her hairline. “You dated that asshat, right?”

Nadia sighs through her nostrils, closing her eyes and bringing a hand to her brow. “Please,” she groans, “don’t remind me.”

Before leaving, Nadia hands her a key. She studies it curiously, turning the key over in her hands. 

“For the bathroom,” she tells her, and adds with a roll of her eyes, “Lucio locks the bathrooms upstairs. Afraid someone will steal his portrait. Again.”

“Steal his… Portrait? …Again?” Calliope parrots, with a delighted grin. She enjoyed Lucio, if she were to be honest. It was like watching a dumpster fire, captivating yet disgusting. 

“Don’t ask,” Nadia murmurs, stepping gracefully down the stairs. Calliope huffs, noting that she definitely  _will ask_  at the next available opportunity. She turns back to the bathroom door, placing the key in the doorknob. The lock clicks open.

 

 

Mirasol’s eyes widen. “Oh shit,” she whispers when she hears the click. With wide eyes, she watches the door knob and nearly yelps when it moves. She scans the room, and scrambles into the tub. She draws the curtain just before the door swings open. She peers through the gap in the shower curtain and swears silently. “ _Fuck_.”

It was Calliope. 

Calliope sighs, leaning against the bathroom door. It shuts with a click behind her. Mirasol scans the bathroom for a way out. There was none. She presses her lips together, her eyes darting back to gap in the curtain. Mirasol swallows and a blush rises to her face when she sees that the front of Calliope’s crop top was wet. She sees Calliope frown, picking at it. Then Calliope shrugs and Mirasol’s breath catches when she lifts it up and over her head. Shirt in hand, Calliope turns at the sound. Mirasol rears back clasping her hand over her mouth. Unfortunately, she backs into the shower caddy, and she and it fall into the tub with a clatter. The shower curtain is yanked back with a loud hiss and Calliope is staring down at her splayed form, her brows drawn and her eyes wide in shock. 

There is a long moment of silence. 

Mirasol wanted to run, tried to will herself to melt into liquid so she could escape down the drain. 

“Sol,” Calliope breathes, and Mirasol’s stomach clenches when her brain brings up memories where her ex had made that sound, in varied circumstances. A whimper escapes her pressed lips, and Mirasol sees Calliope’s brow scrunch and she flinches, bracing herself. “Is that my hoodie?”

“I er um,” Mirasol stammers as she scrambles to her feet. She wipes her hands on the accursed hoodie, then resorts to fidgeting with its hem when her nerves still won’t settle. “I mean uh yes, yes it is.”

Calliope is quiet. Too quiet. Mirasol presses her lips together and her dark eyes dart across the floor. When the silence is unbearable, she finally brings herself to look her ex in the face. She startles when she sees Calliope’s flushed cheeks. The movement jolts the woman before her out of her daze. “It uh,” Calliope stammers, bringing a hand to rub at her neck, “it looks really good on you.”

She blinks up at her. The bashful look on her face is killing her. A droplet then chooses to fall from Calliope’s curls, landing on her collarbone. Mirasol’s eyes follow its movements as it traces the curve of Calliope’s chest, finally making its way to form a wet spot on her sports bra just between the valley of her breasts. Mirasol swallows thickly and, with a valiant effort, drags her eyes away from the sight, back to Calliope’s face, and she sees that Calliope had drawn her bottom lip into her teeth. The smug quirk of her lips was unmistakable. She saw. She knew. 

Mirasol’s jaw clenches. That grin was infuriating and so was the woman before her. With a growl, she lunges. Strong arms wind themselves around her ribs as she wraps her legs just above the taller woman’s hips. Mirasol catches her lips in a bruising kiss and Calliope responds in kind. Then she breaks the kiss to mutter against Mirasol’s lips, “You taste bitter,” she pants, then grins, “And salty.” Calliope shifts her weight, hands winding around Mirasol’s hips, long fingers digging deliciously into her skin. 

“You’ve never complained about my taste beee _fuck_ ,” Mirasol’s retort is cut short when Calliope’s lips close against her pulsepoint. The taller woman manoeuvres her onto the bathroom counter and sets her down. Mirasol bites back a moan when Calliope’s teeth nip at her skin. Her strong hands wind down from Mirasol’s hips to her thighs. Mirasol’s clever fingers tangle themselves into Calliope’s hair, and she gives a sharp tug, bringing Calliope away from her skin. Calliope grunts, frowning, until she sees Mirasol leaning in for another heated kiss. The frown returns when Mirasol pauses, her free hand coming to Calliope’s jaw. 

“Is that,” Mirasol murmurs, head tilted to the side, “is that body glitter?”

Her hand absently flies to her cheek, and she regards her fingers, the gold dust gleaming off of her long digits. “Asra’s idea,” Calliope tells her, smirking, “now, come here.”

Calliope presses their lips together and Mirasol’s mind is cleared of the matters of body glitter and how difficult it is to get off clothes and skin and everything. She smiles into the kiss when she feels wandering hands glide up her thighs under her mauve skirt. Calliope’s tongue darts out to lick her bottom lip, and she moans. Calliope swallows the delicious invitation, tangling her tongue with hers. Mirasol hisses when Calliope’s fingers dig into her thighs and curses, “ _Fuck, Cal._ ”

Calliope smirks, about to make a retort when-

“Calliope, I do apologize about Valerius, he’s insuf-” Nadia’s words are cut short by the sight before her. “Ah.”

The ex-couple break apart hurriedly. Mirasol straightens her skirt and presses her thighs together, while Calliope’s hand reaches up to rub at her neck, offering Nadia her best, winning smile. “Ah um hi, Nadi.”

There is a long, awkward, painful silence between them.

Calliope startles when Mirasol hops off the counter on wobbly legs. Calliope reaches for her when Mirasol falters, but she rights herself just as quickly. The smaller woman brushes off herself and turns to Nadia, her eyes fixed on the floor, “I uh am leaving, yes, I’m leaving. Goodbye.”

Mirasol scurries out of the bathroom, Nadia clearing the way quickly. Calliope stares after her. Then Nadia tosses a shirt in her face and her world goes dark. Calliope has the decency to look sheepish when she peers under the fabric. 

“Just… Get dressed,” Nadia tells her, exasperated, her hands up in surrender.

Nadia closes the door on her and absently, Calliope turns to the mirror. She regards her reflection: the tangled mess of her hair, her kiss-swollen lips. The corner of Calliope’s mouth twitches into a smile. It grows until she’s beaming. 

 

 

Mirasol makes her way through the crowd without further incident. She’s near the entrance when she spies Julian wobbling into the room. She stalks toward him and takes him by the hand. She drags him through and out the front door, and turns to tell him that that was enough partying and it was time to go home. The words die in her throat when she gets a good look at him.

“Is that body glitter?” she asks, wiping a finger across his neck. Julian’s good eye widens, then it squints. He brushes a thumb across her bottom lip.

“Is  _this_?” he smirks not without humor, presenting the gold dust on his fingers. 

Mirasol blinks at the sight, the blush rising in her cheeks. Her voice is an octave higher when she speaks. 

“Let’s never speak of this again.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been three days since the party. Calliope has an itch and an idea. Mirasol has a new roommate.

“What are you doing?”

Calliope peeks out from the scattered clothing at the sound of Asra's voice. Their shared living space was littered with shirts, jackets, and assorted underwear. She surveys the mess, blinks in surprise, and aims a sheepish grin at her roommate. “I’m uh,” she laughs lamely, “would you believe spring cleaning?”

“No,” Asra scoffs, but his lips twitch up into a smile. After a moment, he waves her off and she beams, diving back into the clothing pile. Asra’s eyes scan the room. He lights up when he sees an errant sweater. His eyes sparkle, taking in the rainbow nebula and the large kitten on its bottom half. His fingers trace the kitten’s horn, his touch reverent. “Can I borrow this?”

Calliope surfaces from the pile near the bed. She tilts her head to the side, regarding the sweater and Asra’s pleading expression. “Oh, you can have that,” she chirps, “I got that from my brother. It was always more your style anyway.”

Asra grins, slipping the sweater on. He places a hand on his belly, as if he were petting the cat. He turns to her with pink cheeks and fond grin, “Thank you.”

Calliope flinches when she feels something in her gut. She clears her throat and mutters a weak “you’re welcome”, rubbing at her neck. Calliope fixes her gaze to the floor. Her eyebrows shoot up when she sees something and she dives into the pile. She surfaces with a white t-shirt. She pulls off her tank and slips it on. The graphic tee is two sizes too small.

“I want to believe,” Asra reads, “Huh, never pegged you for an ‘X-files’ fan.”

“It isn’t mine,” she answers, twisting and turning.

“Then whos-” Asra’s eyes widen, “oh,” he gives her a look. It’s his Voice of Reason look. “Are you sure about this?”

Calliope scoffs, walking past him into their shared bathroom. The short sleeves strain over her thick arms and she rolls them up. Calliope raises her arms experimentally, and the shirt rides up, exposing her midriff. Calliope looks around and spies her navy plaid shirt on a hook behind the bathroom door. She gives a whiff and yes it’s clean enough. She drapes it over her shoulders. “How do I look?”

Asra regards her plaid, the slightly exposed midriff, the torn skinny jeans, and the sneakers. He tilts his head, frowning in thought. Then, after a long moment, he nods.

“That’s good enough for me,” Calliope beams. She grabs her phone and her wallet, shoves both into her pockets. She jogs down the steps, grabbing an apple from the breakfast counter. She pauses at the door and adds with a wink, “Don’t wait up.”

Asra sighs, and a tiny reptilian head pokes out from under his collar. Faust rises and nuzzles into his hair. He chuckles, and scratches the snake under her chin. “She’ll be fine,” Asra mumbles, “won’t she, Faust?”

Faust tilts her tiny head, tongue peeking out to taste the air.

“Of course, right. Of course, she will,” Asra mutters, lavender eyes trailing back to the front door.

 

 

 

“Faster, Julian!” Mirasol pants.

“I’m,” Julian grunts, “going as, mmf, fast as I-, fuck, can.”

“Wait, wait, a little to the left,” Mirasol yelps, “Your left! Your left!”

“Sorry!” Julian winces, looks up at her with an apologetic eye. “Should I-”

“No,” Mirasol interrupts, “We’re almost there. Just a little more,” Mirasol grunts, “So close, Julian,” her eyes light up. “Yes!”

“Yes?” Julian croaks, his voice high and desperate. “Can I-”

“Yes, yes,” Mirasol breathes, arms shaking, “But gently, set it down gently.”

The pair set the sofa down with a grunt. Julian falls onto it face first, his long legs dangling off the armrest, “Why did it have to be,” he pants, chest heaving, sweat running down his brow, “a fucking walkup?”

Mirasol laughs, just as breathless. She stumbles onto the sofa after him. “I thought you liked the apartment,” Mirasol hums, carding her fingers through his hair.

“Well,” Julian huffs, his breath almost steady, “I did. But why are there steps inside the apartment? And doesn’t five floors seem a bit much for a walk-up apartment complex?”

Mirasol quirks her brow. “You know,” she murmurs, “You could always move in with Luci-”

“No!” Julian yelps, rising from the sofa. Mirasol rears back, when he nearly collides with her chin. Julian retreats into his shoulders with a sheepish grin. “I mean,” Julian flounders, a blush rising to his cheeks, “This is fine. This is great. It’s perfect!”

“That’s nice to hear,” Mirasol grins, standing. She looks about the room, then her brow furrows when she notices something missing. “Uh Ilya?”

Julian grunts out a distracted response, disentangling his long legs from the sofa.

“Where are you going to sleep?”

“Oh!” Julian brightens, and extends his arms with a flourish, “here, of course!”

“The sofa?” Mirasol frowns in confusion. “Julian, you can barely fi-” Mirasol yelps when Julian tosses a decorative pillow at her. She hears Julian grunt once, and something heavy drops to the floor. “Julian, are you o- oh.”

“Tadaaa,” Julian sings, presenting the unfurled sofa bed.

“Huh,” Mirasol hums, nudging the mattress with a bare foot, “that’s why it was so heavy.”

“Yes,” Julian grins, setting himself down on the mattress. The springs squeak under his weight. “But worth it,” he smirks at her, waggling his eyebrows, “if you wanted to give it a test run.”

Mirasol blushes and shoves the pillow into his chest. “Shut up,” she scoffs, but Julian doesn’t miss the slight upturn of her lips.

“Thank you, Mira,” Julian murmurs, his voice soft. He blushes when Mirasol tilts her head at him. “For uh letting me move in, after y’know, Porita moved, um, out.”

“You’re welcome,” Mirasol blushes, “and it was time I got a new roommate. My cousin moved out a month and a half ago, I’m glad she’s finally found a place big enough for their kid,” Mirasol smiles fondly, setting herself down on the mattress,“How is Portia? Did she settle in with Nadia alright?”

“She settled in perfectly,” Julian answers. He sighs, a wistful sound.

“So what happens to your old apartment?” Mirasol asks, checking his shoulder, “Are you going to miss it?”

“A little,” Julian admits, “But it’s in good hands. Tilde moved in,” Julian turns to her, “She needed the spare room. Her wife says she can’t keep the leeches in their bedroom anymore. They uh kill the mood.”

“What? No,” Mirasol presses a hand to her chest, shock on her face, “Leeches? Kill the mood?”

Julian laughs, high and bright. “Fuck off,” he bumps his shoulder into hers, “Once she finishes her dissertation-”

“It’s over for us bitches?” Mirasol finishes for him, raising an eyebrow.

“Exactly,” Julian answers, leaning back on the mattress, a smug, lazy grin on his face.

They both turn when they hear the doorbell ring. “Did you order takeout?”

Julian shakes his head. “No,” the redhead presses a hand to his stomach, “but I’m starving.”

Mirasol perks up. “You think Portia sent over some food?”

“Maybe? Or she could be here to finally return my books,” Julian murmurs, dusting himself off, “But that’s highly unlikely.”

Julian hops down the steps, towards the front door while Mirasol meanders her way to the kitchen. She pours water into two glasses for Julian and herself. Julian peers through the peephole. His good eye widens. “Uh, Mira?” he calls out, voice shaky, “you may want to come over here,” he turns to her and sees the water in her hands, “leave those there.”

“Hm?” Mirasol calls back, setting the glasses on the kitchen counter.

“It’s your uh,” Julian stammers, “your ex.”

“What?” Mirasol shoves Julian out of the way, pressing her to the peephole. He was right. Calliope was right there outside their door. “Oh my god,” Mirasol breathes, leaning heavily on the doorway, “Julian, she’s wearing my shirt.”

Julian blinks at her. He takes in his new roommate’s wide eyes, red cheeks, and pressed lips. Julian’s own eye widens when he recalls the events of party a few nights ago. He grits his teeth in a panic. “Oh no,” Julian raises his hands, and Mirasol’s head jerks up to look at him in the face. “No no, not this again.”

“Julian, please, just tell her I’m not here!” Mirasol’s voice is frantic. She flinches when she hears Calliope call through the doorway.

“I can hear you. Both of you.”

“Julian, please!” Mirasol pleads, and Julian’s resolve cracks. “We wo-, I mean, it won’t be weird if you’re here! Please, please. Please stay.”

Julian bites his lip, torn between the urge to help and the urge to run.

“Julian, I need you,” she breathes and his resolve shatters.

“Okay,” Julian exhales, pressing his hand to his brow, “but I swear if the two of you start making out, I’m leaving.”

“That’s not happening,” Mirasol places a hand on her heart, then her expression turns sheepish, the hand shifting from her chest to rub her shoulder, “... again.”

“Believe me,” Julian mutters, shameful gaze turning to the floor. For a second, he sees a curly head between his legs and shakes his head to clear the memory. “I’ve uh,” he stammers, heat rising to his cheeks and ears, “I’m not one to judge.”

Mirasol offers him a sheepish smile and a shrug. “Well, here goes,” she murmurs, placing her hand on the doorknob. She plasters what she hopes to be a winning smile on her face and opens the door, “hi.”

“Hey,” Calliope smirks. Mirasol’s grin turns into gritted teeth. This was going to be a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering, yes all of them have crushes on their roommates. As I've mentioned before, at any given time, three out of four of these people are dumbasses. In some cases, all four of them are. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! I know I promised the Asrian part (and you do get a hint of what happened here) but I have a lot to do for work and I got sick this weekend to boot. But Holy Week is coming up so I'll have some time off to spend... um... sinning. Oh well, I denounced religion ages ago, so there's no harm in that.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Mira and Cal are my dumb bi/pan girls. Ah yes, the beauty of being bi/pan is that everyone is a potential ex. Also yes they're sort of dating Julian and Asra, but not yet because three out of four of them are dumbasses.


End file.
